


Comfort Food

by hannah_baker



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Hand Jobs, M/M, non-hockey au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-03 19:10:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16331858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannah_baker/pseuds/hannah_baker
Summary: What business does barista Dylan Strome have lusting after his favorite regular, Prince Hottie? Connor is going to be a doctor, and Dylan is just going to work at this coffee shop forever. Connor is way out of his league, and Dylan knows it.





	Comfort Food

**Author's Note:**

> Really, I just wanted to imagine what it would be like if Dylan and Connor met at the age they are now, instead of when they're teens. Also, I love any setting where I get to explore Dylan's relationship with pain and failure, so thanks for that, Dyls.

There was something ironic to Dylan about thinking about his job as a daily grind when he was literally, well, grinding. Coffee beans, that is. At The Daily Grind, the little indie coffee shop that he’d loved when he’d been a student. It was close to campus and close to where he lived. And his best friend Mitch worked there. 

 

And when he’d dropped out after sophomore year, applying for a job there “until he got his shit together” just seemed like a good idea. Free coffee, right?

 

But a year and a half later, he was still there, at The Daily Grind, slinging coffee and trying to figure out what to do with the rest of his life. He served up the moca he just finished making, and ducked into the back room quick to take a breather. The morning rush was over. It was a blur, drink after drink, as he basically heated and poured different liquids into cups. He was a professional liquid heater and pourer.

 

He took a few deep breaths to gather himself when Mitch poked his head in back. “We have a customer. I can handle it myself, but it’s Prince Hottie, so I thought you might want to come make his drink. The secret ingredient is love, and all that.”

 

Dylan felt that familiar jolt in his gut from knowing his favorite regular was there. Prince Hottie. After making him what felt like a thousand not-so-hot vanilla lattes over the past couple months (the most boring drink on the face of any planet ever), Dylan knew his name was Connor. But he had this blonde hair and these blue eyes and he was just so classically handsome. He carried himself like he had never felt a moment of doubt in his entire life. Basically, he was one thin band of gold set on the top of his head away from looking royal.

 

“Hey, Connor,” Dylan said, giving him the up-down, very obviously before taking his spot behind the espresso machine to pull some shots for his latte. “You look good today, anything special?”

 

Dylan could feel Mitch at the register, rolling his eyes. Dylan flirted relentlessly with Connor. He couldn’t help it. Connor was so out of his league that it felt like a scenario he couldn’t lose. It isn’t like Connor could reject him. Or rather, it’s not like Connor could accept him. They existed on different plains.

 

“Test today,” Connor said, looking down at the button up shirt he was wearing, the blue tie. He looked dorky, almost nerdy, and Dylan just wanted to drag him to his bed and eat him up.

 

Dylan smiled at him and grabbed some skim milk to steam. “You’re going to do great.” Captain nerdy over there wasn’t about to fail a test, Dylan thought. Connor looked like a straight-A kind of guy. He wore a fucking tie to take a test. “Is that required?” Dylan asked, nodding at Connor’s attire, letting his eyes linger on Connor as he kept an ear out for his milk. He bit his lip, looked Connor in the eye.

 

He was not being subtle.

 

“Um, no,” Connor said. He was blushing. Dylan’s objective every time Connor came in (so every day, at 8:45/9am-ish) was to make him blush. He hit the mark about nine times out of ten. Connor was just a little bashful, which meant he was exactly Dylan’s type. He wanted to see how far below his collar the blush went. “Just um, dress well, test well, you know? Get your mind in the right spot and everything.”

 

Dylan couldn’t relate to that. He did fine in school, but it was never anything he cared about. He didn’t drop out for dramatic reasons. No one got him pregnant or anything. He just didn’t care to be there any longer.

 

“I like that tie,” he said. He poured the milk into the cup that he’d brewed his espresso into and swirled it into a heart that he had practiced on other customer’s drinks for weeks before he tried it on Connor’s.

 

“Cool art,” Connor said, from beneath his blush. He always said a little something when Dylan did something fancy. Dylan passed his drink over, and Connor looked a little disappointed as he took a lid out of the basket and snapped it on tight.

 

“Thanks. Good luck on that test, alright?” Dylan said. Connor smiled.

 

“Thanks, Dylan,” he said. It felt like there had been some reluctance to his leaving, but maybe Dylan was reading into shit too much.

 

“Nice tie,” Mitch said, hooking his chin over Dylan’s shoulder, and looping his arms around Dylan’s waist from behind. He knew Mitch had to have been on his tiptoes for that move.

  
“Fuck off,” Dylan said, but genially. It was hard not to be in a good mood after a visit from the prince.

 

“When are you going to ask him out, I’m serious,” Mitch said.

 

“He’s out of my league,” Dylan said, a dismissal out of hand. Dylan had never considered asking Connor out. That’s why, while he got that sweet _crush on a boy_ feeling in the pit of his stomach, he didn’t get too anxious around Connor.

 

“He’s so fucking into you. The other week I swear I saw him look in the window as he passed by, and when he didn’t see you, he kept on walking.”

 

“I wasn’t in view today and he still showed up.”

 

“Yeah, but I think he knows you don’t work Wednesdays, but you’re always here on Mondays.”

 

“You think he knows my schedule?” Dylan fussed with the area around the bar, tidying containers, washing shit, wiping down the counters. At home, his life was organized chaos. At work, he liked the bar to be just plain organized.

 

“I can basically see it in the heart eyes he gave you the entire time you made his drink.”

 

“We just like to flirt. It’s our thing,” Dylan said.

 

“Flirting isn’t anyone’s thing. Flirting is just foreplay’s foreplay. It has a function. It’s a means to an end. He can flirt with anyone. Hell, he can get that vanilla latte from anyone. There’s a Starbucks a block off campus. He comes here to see you.”

 

The bell on the door rang, and Mitch turned his attention to another customer, and Dylan thought that over a bit. He’d never actually considered the fact that Connor wanted anything more than a vanilla latte and a little entertainment. Maybe a little ego boost from the barista. But as soon as he started thinking it, he couldn’t stop.

 

\--

 

On Tuesday, Dylan wore a very tight black t-shirt, and Mitch wolf-whistled him when he walked in at ass-o’clock to open with him. Connor didn’t come until almost nine fifteen, which was very late for him. He looked frazzled, stressed.

 

“Whatever’s throwing your game off today, you got this, okay?” Dylan said as he made his drink.

 

“Oh, um. Thanks,” Connor said. He was always a little socially awkward. Dylan wanted to bottle the feeling he got when he saw Connor’s grumpy face turn into a bit of a smile. “You look really good today,” he said, and Dyan held his drink hostage for long enough to grab him a free muffin out of the bakery case.

 

“Hope your day turns around,” he said, handing over the muffin with the coffee.

 

“Thanks. It already did,” Connor said. His eyes dipped down, shy, before he left with a little wave.

 

“Jesus Christ,” Mitch muttered from somewhere behind him.

 

\---  
  
On Wednesday, Dylan usually liked to sleep in, maybe get some grocery shopping done, play way too many hours of video games in a row, and watch whatever hockey game was on in the evening. He skipped sleeping in to insead loiter around the shop around the time Connor was usually in. Crouser was there instead of Mitch, and Merks was on bar. Dylan was just standing behind the counter, gettin in the way, as Lawson reminded him every twenty-five seconds.

 

“There’s your boy,” Merks said suddenly, and Dylan’s head popped up just in time to see Connor scanning the interior of the coffee shop until he made eye contact with Dylan. He looked surprised, a goofy smile spread across his face, his huge teeth peeking out.

 

Dylan shoved Merks away from the register as Connor approached. He was sure he had a goofy grin on his face too, but he didn’t have the mental brainspace to think about it yet.

 

“I didn’t think you worked on Wednesdays,” Connor said. He absolutely knew Dylan’s schedule.

 

“I’m not working, just loitering. So today your latte is on me,” he said, winking. Connor trailed him over to the bar, to talk while Dylan made his drink. Dylan really took his time, letting Connor know his hair was looking especially golden - he checked off the daily blush from his mental to-do list.

 

“Today is your day off, yeah?” Connor asked.

 

“Yeah, just stopped by for some coffee, honestly,” Dylan said, lying his face off. “Nice surprise to see you here.”

 

“Ditto. Always a bit disappointed on Wednesdays,” Connor said, and for the first time ever, Dylan felt heat creep into his cheeks.

 

“Well I’m glad the stars aligned today,” Dylan said.

 

“What do you do on your day off?”

 

“Just relax, video games, you know.”

 

“I miss video games,” Connor said, wistfully.

 

“Too much school?”

 

“I’m pre-med. Doesn’t leave too much room to get addicted to Fortnite or anything.”

 

“Well, can I recommend dropping out? It’s working out for my Fortnite habit at least,” Dylan was good at being self-deprecating at least.

 

“That sounds so nice,” Connor said, without any of the pity he usually got when he said he’d dropped out. Especially from people who were still in school. He actually said it with a bit of longing.

 

Dylan handed over the latte, and Connor smiled this happy, shy smile at him. “Play a few rounds for me, okay?”

 

“Yeah, for sure.”

 

“I’m glad I got to see you today,” Connor said, his voice dropping to a quieter level, like he wanted to make sure only Dylan heard that. He’d probably already gathered that Dylan’s coworkers watched them like hawks whenever Connor came in.

 

“Ditto,” Dylan said.

 

\---

 

Thursday brought another heart on the top of Connor’s latte, and a report of how Dylan’s day off went. By Friday, Dylan had become resolute.

 

“I’m asking out Prince Hottie today,” Dylan said told Mitch when Mitch arrived with a key to the building. Dylan wasn’t sure why Mitch was the one who was trusted with the key and not him, but Mitch had started working there as a freshman, so Dylan supposed he had seniority or something.

 

“Wow,” Mitch said, closing the door behind them again, and locking it until they were ready to be open to the public. “I honestly never thought I’d hear you say that.”

 

“Shit, Mitch, what if he says no, and then all of our interactions after that are awkward? What if he says no and then he never comes back?”

 

“What if he says yes, and decides he wants to get married have your babies and everything? What if, what if.” Mitch was clearly exhausted by this by now, but he was a good friend and humored Dylan. “Only roughly four hours until he comes in for his bland latte.”

 

The morning rush took care of easily three hours, the time passing quickly as Dylan made every order that came up. The semester had melted into October, and he was making pumpkin spice drink after pumpkin spice drink. He was excited for the peppermint hot cocoas that Christmas would bring after.

 

He fiddled with everything, from the espresso grinder to the tamper to the bucket where they collected espresso grounds, drummed his fingers on the edge of the counter, debated making himself another drink. He liked an americano with a couple extra shots, and sometimes some hazelnut. But he’d already had one, and he could tell by the way his hands were shaking a bit that the extra shots were probably overkill when he was already a little wired.

 

When Connor came in, it was like the sky had opened up behind him to finally let sunlight touch the earth. His hair was shaggy and loose, free from the hat he’d been wearing the day before, and Dylan just wanted to run his hands through it so badly. He smiled at Dylan the entire time Mitch rang up his drink, and Dylan thought about the strategy for asking Connor out. He supposed he should just go for it.

 

“What are you up to this weekend?” Dylan asked. Connor blushed immediately. It was getting easier and easier to cause that blush, and Dylan figured it was because Connor liked him. Right? It had to be.

 

“Just studying, mostly. Watching the Leafs game tonight,” he shrugged.

 

“Could I take you out to dinner on Saturday?” Dylan asked, forcing his voice to come out strong and clear. Generally, as a barista, Dylan was the one who was getting asked out. He’d never been on this side of the equation before, at least not at work. He watched Connor’s blush deepen, his face making a very clear _aw shucks_ expression.

 

“Really?” he asked, leaning in as close to Dylan as he could, hip resting on the counter. He looked like he was happily surprised with that development.

 

“Yeah. I just thought, this is my favorite part of every day. I want to get to know you better if you’d like.” He looked Connor in the eye, knowing that he had to at least fake some confidence here. Confidence was sexy. He could fall apart after Connor left if he got turned down.

  
But Connor flicked his eyes away from Dylan for a moment, then looked at him again, blush high on his cheeks. “I’d like that,” he said. “Yeah. Um, what’s your number?” He fumbled in his pocket for his cell, and punched Dylan’s number into his phone, sending a text so Dylan would have his.

 

“Cool, we’ll figure out details later today?”

 

“Yeah,” Connor said. He looked a little dazed until he flicked his eyes up to the clock above where Dylan was standing. “Shit, I have to get to class. Text me though, yeah?”

 

Dylan was in a stupor as Connor left the store.

 

“That didn’t feel real. You witnessed that, right?” Dylan asked Mitch. Mitch rolled his eyes dramatically.

 

“Yeah, I witnessed that. Now go wipe down some tables and get your disgusting happy face away from me, jeez.”

 

\---

 

Dylan learned that Connor lived less than a mile and a half away from him, in an apartment he shared with a master’s student. When Dylan showed up that Saturday night, it turned out to be the top floor of an old house, with upstairs and downstairs porches. Dylan parked and texted Connor, who must have been waiting with his shoes on or something because he burst out the front door of the house about fourteen seconds later.

 

Dylan wasn’t even sure what to do. Did he get out of the car? Should they hug? Connor just slid into his passenger seat wearing a polo shirt, slacks, and dress shoes. And of course, a crooked smile, his hair clean and shiney. Dylan was one step closer to getting his hands in his hair.

 

Dylan was wearing nice jeans and a henley but he felt a little underdressed. It was the way the clothes hung on Connor, like he would look like he was wearing a polo and slacks even if he was naked. He could probably make basketball shorts look dressy. It wasn’t the clothes. It was _him._ Dylan felt like he had the opposite effect on his clothes, always just wrinkled or ill-fitting enough to signal to everyone around him who he truly was.

 

“Thanks for asking me to dinner,” Connor said. He was always so polite, and Dylan didn’t really understand why he had such a boner for that. “I don’t get a whole lot of breaks from thinking about class. I don’t allow myself a whole lot of breaks. I probably would have microwaved something for dinner if you hadn’t suggested this.”

 

“Well, then I’m happy to break you out of your study cage. I was thinking Mexican? I know a place that does great tacos. Or, you look too nice to eat something messy. We could do Italian? That’s a little fancier.” Italian was also messy, but the closest italian restaurant was lit by candles on the tables and had tablecloths. The mexican place, while certainly better when it came to food, had flickering fluorescent lights and molded plastic booths.

 

“Let’s do the mexican, I had pasta last night,” Connor said, and Dylan knew he’d made the right choice, asking Connor out.

 

At the restaurant, Dylan recommended his favorites, and they spent a lot of time picking out tacos for each other to try, bringing back heavy plastic trays to their table they chose in the corner. It was more money than Dylan had ever spent there, even for two, but it was way cheaper than the italian place, and Connor unwrapped each of his tacos like he wasn’t sure what he would uncover, but he was happy to find out.

 

It took about ten seconds for them to find common ground, bemoaning the Leaf’s loss from the night before. It was an easy transition to playing hockey as kids, and their brothers, and growing up in the GTA.

 

Dylan had such a limited picture in his mind of who Connor was. Kind of a dork, but very cute, and a little bashful. But on top of that, he was very driven and intense. He was close with his family. He had a few friends who were important to him but wasn’t concerned about being popular and cool.

 

He wasn’t popular or cool. But somehow, that made Dylan think he was very cool.

 

They finished their tacos, their two trays stacked together, a mound of taco wrappers covering them, and kept talking. Connor talked about his classes, and Dylan talked a little about the coffee shop. He’d always worked in food service, from his very first job bussing tables at a local pizza place back in Mississauga. He had stories.

 

Connor was leaning on his elbows, arms folded against each other on the table, like he just wanted to be closer to Dylan, even when he was telling frankly disgusting food-service stories, and Dylan just, every so gradually, reached out and grabbed one of Connor’s hands.

 

The soft smile on Connor’s face surprised into an unguarded grin as they tangled their fingers together, and Dylan kept talking as he held Connor’s hand, smile slipping onto his face too.

 

They stayed until the restaurant closed at ten, and Dylan realized they’d been sitting at that booth for three hours. Connor had a bit of a panic about needing to keep studying, so Dylan drove him back home. When he parked back in front of Connor’s house, Connor thanked him again and started to get out of the car. But he paused, something inside of him fighting.

 

Then, slowly, he leaned over the center console, brushed a couple gentle fingers over Dylan’s cheek, and kissed him, soft and chaste. He gave Dylan one more smile before getting out of the car.

 

Shit. He had not thought that Connor would be the one to kiss him.

 

It was a good date.

 

\---

  


The soonest they could see each other, between their two schedules, was Wednesday night. Connor’s roommate Taylor was working on his thesis at the library until late, and Dylan’s house always had people puttering around in it. Dylan’s roommates knew nothing about privacy, so Dylan drove back over to Connor’s house.

 

He liked Connor’s neighborhood. I wasn’t far from where Dylan lived, but it was a different demographic. Where Dylan’s neighborhood was filled with frat boys, Connor lived in a neighborhood filled with unwashed hippies who grew food in their backyards and had compost. Connor was the same age as him, but he felt older, somehow. Had an older soul, maybe.

 

Dylan followed Connor up a steep staircase up to the top floor of the house he lived in. Apparently, the bottom half of the house was the owners, a couple in their late thirties and their two little kids who Connor liked playing knee hockey with. Just the image of it was enough to melt Dylan’s heart into a little puddle.

 

He left his shoes and coat on the landing in front of the door. Beyond the front door were living and dining areas, and he could see a peek of a kitchen around the corner.

 

“Um, this is it,” Connor said. He looked like he didn’t know what to do with his hands. Dylan could tell he was a little nervous. He reached out and grabbed one of Connor’s hands. He’d been thinking about holding Connor’s hand for four days, which wasn’t exactly his traditional fantasy for boys he was into. But there was something gentle about Connor that made Dylan want to be gentle too.

 

“Show me around?” he asked as Connor paused, and Connor nodded, glad to have a task finally. He pointed out Taylor’s bedroom off the living room, and led Dylan through the kitchen. Behind the kitchen was the bathroom and Connor’s room.

 

“It’s not like, exciting,” he said, introducing his room. It was pretty small, but enough for a full-sized bed and a desk. He had books on a shelf mounted above his desk, and a Sidney Crosby poster on his wall. “No comments about Crosby,” he said, watching Dylan’s eye catch on the poster.

 

“I personally have more of a thing for Mo Rielly, but I’m not going to judge who you’re into,” Dylan said, a teasing smirk on his face.

 

“He’s a generational player,” Connor said stubbornly, and Dylan’s heart just felt warm and full. Of course Connor liked fucking Crosby. Dylan couldn’t help but lean in close to kiss Connor on the cheek. When he pulled away, Connor’s ears were turning pink. He could see the blush spread across the back of his neck.

 

“I saved the best for last,” Connor said, leading them back out of his room. Dylan was a little relieved. He wasn’t sure they were to the “makeout in front of the Sidney Crosby poster” part of their relationship just yet.

 

This time, Connor took Dylan’s hand as they walked back through the kitchen and the living room. In the back corner of the living room was a door, and Connor led them through the door onto a screened in porch. He flipped a light switch and soft yellow light from a sconce illuminated a recliner and a couch covered in blankets. Connor closed the door behind them.

 

It was a little rainy out, drizzly and cold, and Dylan thought that maybe the porch would be a better summer experience. Connor picked up on his hesitance.

 

“It’s awesome, I promise. I study out here all the time. C’mere.” He pulled up the blankets from the couch so Dylan could sit, and then he settled against Dylan on the couch, arranging the blankets around them, even draping one around their shoulders. Dylan stretched an arm out for Connor to fit under, and he snugged up against Dylan like they’d been doing it for years. It was almost unnatural how natural everything felt with Connor.

 

“Alright, this isn’t so bad,” Dylan admitted, voice low. The rest of the neighborhood in front of them was dark, lit by the soft glow of street lamps, scattered down the street. They were warming up fast, cuddled together under so many blankets. “How aren’t we wet right now?”

 

“With the roof overhang, we really only get rain in here when it’s like, a huge storm. Then we just tarp the couch. Seems to do okay.”

 

They were quiet for a while, listening to the rain patter on the roof, feeling the cool, light breeze come through the screen. With the cold air around them, Dylan could feel how warm Connor was pressed against him. Connor shifted a bit so his head was resting on Dylan’s shoulder, and Dylan ran his hand through Connor’s hair.

 

“Did you know I’m obsessed with your hair?” Dylan asked him. He didn’t have to see Connor’s face to know he was blushing.

  
“Yeah? It’s kind of an experiment. It's never been this long before.”

 

“It’s incredible. What does it usually look like?”

 

Connor pulled his phone out of his pocket and pulled up his Instagram, finding a photo of him with hair cropped short, his bangs a neat swoop off of his forehead.

 

“Well, that’s fucking cute too.”

 

“Will your flattery ever end?”

 

“Naw,” Dylan said. “Maybe when I stop liking you so much, and I don’t think that’s going to happen so it sounds like you’re stuck with it.” It was maybe a little more than he should have said. But it was so hard when you liked someone, when you were alight with the confirmation of a crush flooding your system, to think that you may ever not feel exactly this way.

 

“Should I keep growing it?”

 

“Do you want to? What’s the goal?”

 

“I’m not really sure.”

 

“Well, keep doing it until you don’t like it anymore. That’s what I did with college,” Dylan said. In the year since he’d been in school, he’d developed another branch of his sense of humor, which he thought of as the ‘make people feel comfortable with the fact that I dropped out of school’ branch.

 

“Do you ever regret it? I can’t imagine not finishing.”

 

“That’s because you have a goal. I didn’t. I just went to go, you know? I don’t regret it. If I find some kind of dream in the future that necessitates school, I’ll take care of it then, you know?”

 

“I like that,” Connor said, which surprised Dylan. He was always on guard for people judging him about his choice to drop out. Everyone had something to say to him. But not Connor. “Why waste your time and money? Especially if you don’t like it. If I didn’t want to be a doctor, going through this shit would be really hard.”

 

“Yeah. That’s exactly it.” Dylan had had to explain this to everyone in his life. To his parents, and to his roommates, and his advisor at school. But he didn’t have to explain it to Connor. “Why do you want to be a doctor?”

 

Connor paused, and Dylan let him think. He didn’t want to rush him. “When I was a kid, I had some trouble with my heart. I had a bunch of surgeries when I was little. My earliest memories are the hospital. I know it was really rough on my parents, but I don’t remember being scared. When my parents talk about it, they always talk about how good my doctors were. How that made all the difference. And I guess I want to be that difference for a kid, you know? And their parents.”

 

“You want to be a pediatrician?” Dylan asked. Even he could hear how warm and soft his own voice was asking that.

 

“Yeah, I like kids. I think they deserve the best, especially when they’re going through some hard shit.”

 

Dylan shifted just enough to press a kiss to Connor’s forehead. “You are something else, you know that?”

 

“Cheesy?” Connor asked.

  
“Pretty awesome,” Dylan corrected. Connor tipped his head up to look at Dylan, and Dylan kissed him. I was no chaste peck of the lips, but full and deep. When Connor kissed back, it was with confidence if not an abundant amount of skill. Everything Connor did made Dylan’s heart swell.

 

They kissed like that for long minutes, curled together awkwardly on the couch until Connor pulled away. “Fuck, this is uncomfortable,” he said, with a chuckle, blush high on the apples of his cheeks. “Come here,” he said as he settled on his back on the couch, grabbing Dylan’s hand to pull him on top of him.

 

“Blankets too,” Dylan said as they settled back into kissing, and Connor paused again to adjust the blankets back over Dylan, giggling as they got settled again. Connor was warm and soft beneath him, his smile easy and sleepy as Dylan pressed their lips together again. He had both of Connor’s hands in his hair and his tongue in Connor’s mouth, and he just wanted to live in that moment, the spark of whatever was growing between them coiling in him.

 

They kissed until their lips were buzzing with it, until Dylan’s jaw was honestly just a little sore, until Connor was worried the marks Dylan was making on his neck were going to hang around longer than the evening.

 

“Don’t think this means you can go anywhere though,” Connor said, helping Dylan settle against him so they could just cuddle on the couch together in dim light, the darkness of the evening surrounding them completely. They were an island, the two of them.

 

Dylan had his head tucked on Connor’s chest and he listened to his heart beat. The heart that apparently gave him so much trouble when he was a kid. He felt so, so incredibly grateful that he got to hear it beating now. That once upon a time, some self-righteous twenty something had decided to make a difference in kids lives by becoming a pediatric surgeon, and because of that Dylan got to have this moment with this incredible boy.

 

Life was strange and beautiful. It had been a while since Dylan felt truly good about anything in his life. He felt like he was getting by just fine. But what was the point in just getting by? Now, he felt like something was happening. Connor was happening.

 

\---

 

Dylan had forgotten what it was like to not constantly have a text from Connor to respond to. In the two weeks since their first date, Dylan had sent and received more text messages than over the previous two years. The conversation never stopped, just rolled easily to the next thought in their heads, basically whatever that was.

  
At night, before Dylan went to bed (early, as he had to sling coffee in the morning), they’d talk on the phone, Connor’s soft voice deep and comforting. Connor didn’t seem like the most talkative guy at first. Maybe even a little shy. But Dylan had cracked the dam, and Connor could fucking _chat._ He could give Dylan’s mom a run for her money.

 

“You’re all tucked in?” Connor asked Dylan, from all the way in his house, not two miles away. They’d seen each other between Connor’s class and his study group that day, when Connor had stopped by Dylan’s place to eat something and make out against the kitchen counter (and then in Dylan’s bed), but Dylan already missed him. Missed his presence next to him. It was a sickness. He knew how consuming a new relationship could be, but the sparks had never ignited into such a fire with anyone else.

  
“I mean, I’m laying in bed with my lights off. My jammies are on.”

 

“Okay, hold on a second,” he said. Dylan could hear the phone thunk onto a solid surface, then more rustling. When Connor picked the phone back up, he said, “okay, now I’m tucked in too.”

 

“It’s nine o’clock,” Dylan observed. He was a young man in the prime of his life, but he also had to wake up at four in the morning, so concessions had to be made. He did not have a “cool” bedtime.

 

“Yeah, but this is nice, right? Now we’re both in bed, and I can pretend you’re here with me.”

 

“This is nice,” Dylan agreed. It was nice, for several reasons. One, they hadn’t spent a night together yet. Between Dylan’s coffee job and Connor’s incessant studying, it was hard to pin down any time to spend together, let alone coordinate a sleepover. And two, Connor was kind of cheesy, and Dylan was into it. Connor was the kind of guy to crawl into his own bed in order to say goodnight to Dylan properly.

 

“Plus, I have my anatomy textbook tucked in here with me.”

 

“Romantic.”

 

“It’s the only one that doesn’t put me to sleep immediately, so I figured it was my safest choice. O-Chem probably not.”

 

Dylan admired how much passion Connor had for school. Not really school specifically. But for what he had to do to get what he wanted. He wasn’t a scholar. School was just a means to an end, and Connor understood that. He would do as well as he could in school, because that would put him in the right position to get into med school. And doing well in med school would put him in a good position for residency. Etcetera until the end of time.

 

Dylan wasn’t like that. He liked working hard, but he didn’t have the same drive, the same focus for a goal. He wasn’t really sure what he wanted, but he thought maybe coffee was fine for now.

 

“Is it dumb to miss you?” Connor asked him. Dylan could hear the rustle of Connor’s sheets, the soft inhale and exhale of his breath. With his bedroom door closed and his fan on for some white noise, he couldn’t hear his roommates in the rest of the house. It felt like it was just him and Connor in the darkness, together. They were an island again. And yeah. He missed him.

 

“If it’s dumb, then I’m dumb,” Dylan said. It sounded stupid. He felt like he always sounded stupid when talking to Connor. He knew Connor was out of his league. He just didn’t want Connor to realize it. At least not yet.

 

“It was really nice to see you today,” Connor said. He’d met another one of Dylan’s roommates, Brinksy. He just needed to meet Jakob and he’d know the full set.

 

“It was nice having you in my bed,” Dylan said. With three roommates, it wasn’t like they could make out on the couch, and it wasn’t like they could just _not make out._ It had been a while since Dylan had had a boyfriend. It felt good to have a body pressed under his, to have someone touch him and want him. It felt amazing that that person was Connor.

 

Connor was quiet for a beat. “Are you blushing?” Dylan asked. It was so easy to imagine, the rosy tint under his skin.

 

“No,” Connor said. “Maybe.”

 

“I love your blush. It’s cute.”

 

“I liked being in your bed. I kinda wish I was in your bed right now,” Connor said. Dylan thought it sounded like he’d mustered some courage to say it. Like it wasn’t easy for him. He just wanted to hold Connor, bury his nose in the mess of shaggy blonde hair at the back of his neck.

 

“You and I both,” Dylan said, letting out a yawn. He’d been up since four that morning. He was tired as shit.

 

“Okay, it’s time for bed,” Connor announced. He was someone who prized sleep. He understood when Dylan needed to go to bed.

 

“Night, Con.”

 

“Night, Dyls.”

 

\---

 

Dylan first met Connor’s roommate Taylor a few days later, when Dylan had convinced Connor that they could hang out while Connor was studying and that he wouldn’t bother him or distract him. He was ostensibly job searching, which was the most soul-draining thing he’d ever engaged in.

 

They were set up on the dining room table, an open bag of Cheetos between them, and Dylan was mostly just studying the way Connor’s hair fell over his forehead and into his eyes as he highlighted the textbook he was focused on. Dylan had a browser window open with about fourteen tabs going: his resume in a Google Doc, his LinkedIn, blog posts titled things like “Resume Essentials” and “Modern Job Hunting,” and then the usual selection of Indeed, Zip Recruiter, and Craigslist. Seeing them all in one window made his head hurt, but also gave him the power to close them all at the same time.

 

He opened his mouth to say something to Connor because he was bored, but decided against being obnoxious. If he could convince Connor that studying together could be productive, he could easily increase his Connor time, even if that meant basking in his presence, silently. He would take that. When it came to Connor, Dylan wasn’t a proud man.

 

Dylan was trying to commit the image of Connor finger combing his long bangs out of his eyes to his memory when the front door opened, snapping Connor out of his focus.

 

“Hey, Tay,” Connor said, absently over his shoulder.

 

“Hey bud,” he said, dumping his backpack on the couch as he entered the space. “This the boyfriend?” He arched an eyebrow, which was angular like the rest of his face. He was just very square all around, and just as blonde as Connor.

 

Dylan looked over at Connor, who blushed a little. They hadn’t talked about being boyfriends, but if that wasn’t what they were, then Dylan needed to reevaluate the definitions of words. Dylan gave him a little nod.

 

“Yeah, this is Dylan,” Connor said, shooting him a grateful smile. “Dyls, this is Taylor.”

 

“Good to meet you finally,” Dylan said, reaching out to shake Taylor’s hand.

 

“Ditto.” Taylor had a firm grip, and made Dylan feel like he was being x-rayed. He let Taylor evaluate him without challenge. He wanted Taylor to like him. “Heard a lot about you. Like, the volume of words that comes out of Connor’s mouth has turned to 90% Dylan-exclusive content. Nice to put a face to a name.”

 

“Shut up,” Connor said, without any heat. He was already back to highlighting his text book. Taylor made his way to the kitchen where he puttered around for awhile and headed to his bedroom after the microwave dinged, bowl of food in his hand.

 

“You like me,” Dylan teased when Taylor was out of earshot.

 

“Guilty as charged,” Connor said. The smile on his face was easy and beautiful. He looked so natural in his own space, his books open in front of him. Dylan felt like he belonged here with Connor. Like they didn’t have to do anything fancy to be together. Dylan just wanted to be in the same room as him, to soak up that glow he had. The more he got to know Connor, the stronger the magnetic attraction he had to him was. He’d be sitting in Connor’s lap right now if he thought Connor could still study like that.

 

Instead, he slipped a foot close enough to hook around Connor’s ankle. “I like you, too.”

 

“I know that too,” Connor said, his voice just a little softer. The teasing was done. Connor grabbed one of Dylan’s hands to press a kiss to his knuckles before going back to writing meticulously neat notes in his notebook, sneaking glances at Dylan every few minutes. Maybe Dylan would have stayed in school if this was what studying meant.

 

His heart felt all kinds of full as he closed his job search browser window and opened up a new one to continue his thorough creep on Connor’s Facebook page, which had so far returned many adorable photos of teen Connor and his big teeth. Fuck job searching.

 

\---

 

The cohort of pre-med students that Connor belonged to was a tight group. Sometimes, Dylan thought, too tight. It felt like summer camp, where you did everything with the kids in your cabin. Still, Dylan knew that Connor’s cohort was important to him, so when Connor invited him to movie night, he knew he had to go.

 

They showed up to the kind of house that Dylan lived in - old and full of roommates - except when Dylan walked in, he could tell something was different. It was clean.

 

“Malory, Angela, and Stacy live here,” Connor explained, pointing to the throw pillows on the couch. They made their way to the kitchen where everyone was hanging out, and Connor introduced him to about eight people, whose names Dylan promptly forgot. Most of them were in the cohort. Only two other significant others were present, but at least Dylan wasn’t the only one.

 

Connor made sure Dylan had a beer, and kept careful hold of his hand, only dropping it once so he could wrap his arm around Dylan’s waist. He liked that Connor stayed close and didn’t abandon him. But the conversation was difficult and tedious. It was clear that they were only going to talk about school. About the test grades they’d gotten back the day before, and the midterm paper they were writing.

 

“What do you study, Dylan?” one of the girls asked. He couldn’t remember if she was Angela or Malory.

 

“I’m not in school anymore, actually.” He felt Connor squeeze his hand. He squeezed back.

 

“You already graduate? Awesome.”

 

“I didn’t finish. I dropped out,” Dylan said. He hated this reveal. The responses he got usually fell somewhere on the pity scale.  

 

Angela-or-Malory’s face shifted into confusion. “Why?” she asked, like dropping out was beyond her imagination. It probably was.

  
“College isn’t the right choice for everyone,” Connor said, butting in. Connor shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal, but he could still feel everyone’s eyes on him, even as Connor changed the subject back to something one of their professors had said about aminos or something, and Dylan had to focus on not letting out a huge sigh of relief.

 

Instead, he tried to just focus on being next to Connor, but while Connor’s hand was in his, he still felt far away.

 

By the time they moved down to the basement where they had a projector set up for the movie, Dylan kind of wanted to go home. He had work in the morning, and it was already past his bedtime. Connor’s friends were not being friendly toward him. Connor staked out a spot on the couch for them, and let Dylan curl against his chest like he already knew he was going to sleep through the movie. It was hard to be annoyed when Connor was so sweet.

 

The movie started, and everyone settled in around them on chairs and bean bags and blankets and pillows, packed like sardines, whispering over the movie. The point of the night wasn’t the movie. The point was connection and community. School was so hard. Connor needed people to lean on. Dylan would try. Dylan would try by napping on Connor while they participated in this bonding activity together.

 

\---

 

Once again, Connor was overdressed. “It’s just my parents,” Dylan said, trying to impart how casual dinner that night was. Dylan had chosen to go to school fairly close to home, which meant that as soon as his mom heard he had a boyfriend (from Ryan, that traitor), she’d insisted on hosting dinner. “It’s also winter. Just wear boots, and leave your dress shoes in your closet, sheesh.”

 

They were in Connor’s house, where Dylan had come up since Connor hadn’t been ready when Dylan had arrived.

 

“And put a t-shirt on, maybe a Leafs one, my dad loves the Leafs. He’ll love anyone in a Leafs shirt.”

 

“Stop,” Connor said, kissing him to shut up. “You're taking your anxiety out on my wardrobe. I want to make a good impression. I’ll wear my boots, but the sweater stays.”

 

“Dressy jeans,” Dylan said, trying to compromise.

 

“Fine, dressy jeans.” Connor turned to take his slacks off, and Dylan made the most of his view as Connor changed.

 

“Wanna stay over tonight?” he asked. “At my house, obviously. Not my parents.” It was Saturday, and Dylan didn’t have to work in the morning. His schedule was generally four ten hour days, unless someone needed to trade shifts, which meant he got his nights and weekends mostly free. It was the bonus of working with students.

 

“For real?” Connor said, buttoning his jeans and smoothing out his sweater, a cool grey that made his eyes pop.

 

“No, for fake,” Dylan said, rolling his eyes.

 

“So funny,” Connor said, tone blank. “Yeah, duh, I want to stay over.” Dylan watched Connor’s smile appear crooked on his face, revealing a peek of his teeth. He put pajamas and a change of clothes in his backpack and stopped at the bathroom to grab his toothbrush before they headed down to Dylan’s car.

 

The drive to Mississauga was nice. Connor woke up early for study group and napped through the thirty minutes it took to get to his parents' house, fingers twined with Dylan’s. Dylan parked in the third stall in the garage, and Connor brought in the pan of brownies he made from a mix in order to have something to bring that wasn’t expensive like wine.

 

Dylan’s parents had lived in the same house since before Dylan was born, and it’s so overwhelmingly home to him that he didn’t even have words to describe it. The house he grew up in felt like part of his own physical body. He was just glad he got to show it to Connor.

 

His parents were in the kitchen, his mom drinking a glass of wine while his dad shuffled the fish he had in the frying pan around a little. Introductions were warm, his mom giving Connor a once-over before pulling him into a hug, his dad giving him a handshake. Dylan’s mom fussed over the brownies, even if they were a little sad looking in Connor’s beat-up college student second-hand pan.

 

“Dylan told us you’re going to be a doctor,” his mom said, after Dylan and Connor were settled at the breakfast bar with a beer each.

 

“Yeah, I want to be in pediatrics, not exactly sure what field yet.” Connor was gripping his beer bottle as though it would be pried out of his grip with the jaws of life. Dylan could tell he was trying so hard to make a good impression.

 

Somehow Trish got Connor talking about his favorite recipes that his mom made growing up, and that’s what relaxed him, the tension draining in his shoulders. He described his mom’s go-to meals, and how his older brother Cam loved spaghetti but he hated it, so the day after spagheti night was sloppy joes night, which Connor loved but Cam hated.

 

“Sloppy joes are really easy to make,” Dylan’s mom hinted to him, giving him the most obvious eyebrow ever, and the point of that conversation dawned on him - his mom was mining his boyfriend for his comfort food so Dylan could make it for him. That was smart as shit.

 

His mom was the conversational ring-leader until they sat down for dinner, and his dad popped the Leafs game on “in the background,” which queued some more focused hockey talk. Connor talked about how much he loved to play, but how he could never play anything other than rec league hockey pretty casually, because of his heart growing up. It was strong now, but as a kid, his parents had been pretty careful with him.

 

“Well, Dylan will probably drag you back here this summer for the street hockey tournament,” his dad said. Connor said he thought he could probably find some inline skates in his garage back home.

 

Dinner was comfortable, and they stayed and ate brownies after dinner, hanging out until they watched the Leafs eak out a narrow win. Dylan and Connor were tangled up on the love seat, their gangly legs up on the ottoman. Dylan’s mom kept shooting him pleased little smiles. It was pretty easy to see how much they liked Connor, especially when Connor had insisted that he and Dylan do the dishes when they were done eating.

 

“He’s wonderful,” his mom whispered to him when she hugged him goodbye, and he just nodded his agreement. His dad wasn’t about to say mushy stuff, but he’d already made sure Connor was coming for their annual Christmas eve party, which he insisted was not optional.

 

“Well, you’re in. If they need to make room for you, they’ll jettison one of my brothers. Maybe Ryan, he’s a smug bastard,” Dylan joked on the drive back to his house.

 

“You think they liked me?”

 

“I think they like you better than they like me, are you kidding? ‘ _Can I do the dishes Mrs. Strome?_ ’ You’re in for life.”

 

“Like you wouldn’t do the same at my house,” Connor said, rolling his eyes.

 

“Only because it would make you like me more.” Connor couldn’t argue with that.

 

When they got back to Dylan’s house, it was pretty empty. He could hear Jakob in his main-floor bedroom, his TV blasting a little too loud. The rest of the boys were probably out somewhere. He had a pretty strange schedule compared to his roommates, which meant he didn’t see them all that often. They headed upstairs to Dylan’s room.

 

At Connor’s place, Connor got the small room because he was younger. At Dylan’s house, they drew straws, and Dylan drew well. He didn’t have a spot in the two-car garage, but he did have his own bathroom, and that was more than enough for him.

 

Connor had been in Dylan’s room before, and set his backpack down in the corner with an air of familiarity that honestly made Dylan kind of hot. Connor sat at the edge of Dylan’s bed and looked up at him with a bit of a challenge in his eye.

 

“I’m pretty tired,” Dylan said, a teasing tone to his voice. “We should probably go to bed.” It was almost eleven, and Dylan was tired as all shit, but sleeping wasn’t the point of having Connor spend the night.

 

“Oh yeah, buddy, gotta get that eight full hours,” Connor teased back. Connor wasn’t always good at teasing - something about him just a touch too serious for it to be something easy for him to fall into. But he was loose and comfortable here, and Dylan had a little surge of pride that Connor felt that way around him.

 

Dylan flicked the lock on his door because, well, roommates, and turned back to Connor. He pulled him back to standing by the hand, and wrapped his arms around Connor’s waist. Connor was the perfect amount shorter than him, and when he kissed Connor, he could feel the start of stubble on the beard he was apparently trying to grow. It spoke volumes for how much Dylan liked him that he was also kind of into the blonde scruff.

 

He worked his hands up under Connor’s shirt, and heard him gasp, Dylan’s cold fingers on his warm skin. They broke the kiss long enough for Dylan to work Connor’s sweater and shirt up over his head, then Connor pulled Dylan’s shirt off and then they were just stripping, getting their clothes off as fast as possible.

 

Dylan’s house was old and drafty, and by the time they were standing there in their underwear, they were both shivering.

 

“Damnit Canada,” Connor said, as Dylan peeled his covers back to shove them both under.

 

They trembled and shook as they kissed, their bodies slowly warming the sheets, so they sheets could warm their bodies, and finally Connor was completely still under him, flat on his back, glowing like an angel. Fucking blondes.

 

“I wanna blow you,” Dylan said, feeling Connor’s breath catch beneath him. All Connor could do was nod.

  
He didn’t get the feeling that Connor had a super active sex life. Or, he didn’t get the feeling that Connor slept around, which Dylan was pretty occasionally guilty of. He just liked sex, and didn’t always want to be in a relationship to get it.

 

He felt different about it with Connor. Probably because he had feelings for Connor.

 

He kissed down Connor’s chest, trying not to dislodge the blankets off of Connor as he went. Connor kept two fingers anchored on Dylan’s shoulder. It felt sweet. When Dylan went to pull Connor’s underwear off, Connor bit his lip and looked away, like he couldn’t possibly watch.

 

“Hey,” Dylan said, trying to get his attention. He knew he had Connor’s attention if his dick was anything to go by, but he wanted his eyes on him. “You okay?”

 

Connor looked at him finally, his eyes so soft that Dylan could barely breathe. “Yeah, Dyls, I’m okay,” he said, teasing him a bit. He was okay.

 

Connor was gorgeous all over, and his dick was no different. Dylan still had a weird complex about Connor being out of his league, and he couldn’t help but think about how he was lucky to be there, with Connor in his bed, with Connor’s dick in his mouth as he slid down as far as he could on it. Connor may have been out of his league, but Connor was still hard because of him, gasping because of him.

 

Dylan was no stranger to giving head. He had a rhythm he liked that he found to be pretty successful for him, but he found himself slowing down early on. He could tell that Connor wasn’t super used to getting head, wasn’t going to last long. Could feel the moment Connor felt out of his depth, when his fingers snaked into Dylan’s hair. He didn’t really tug on it, but more just held on for dear life.

 

“Fuck, Dyls,” Connor breathed, a line of soft ‘yeahs’ coming after it. Dylan wasn’t even doing anything fancy, just the standard hand on Connor’s balls, mouth as wet as he could make it. But it was enough for Connor. It was sexy, knowing Connor was easy for his mouth, knowing making him make the noises he was currently making wasn’t difficult or tricky.

 

When Connor came, Dylan swallowed what he could, looking Connor straight in the eye when he did it. He knew it was almost cruel. “Jesus Christ,” Connor said. At some point, Dylan forgot about being cold, his world reduced just to Connor, and how hard his own dick was after that blowie.

 

“Let me return the favor,” Connor said, pushing himself up onto his elbows and reaching for Dylan.

 

“Won’t even be worth it, I’m so fucking keyed up,” Dylan said honestly. “I’d just explode all over your face immediately.”

 

Connor laughed - just absolutely cracked up - and pulled Dylan into a kiss. He wrestled Dylan onto his back and slipped his hand down the front of Dylan’s boxers. Connor had nice, big hands, and he kept his lips on Dylan’s neck as he jerked him off quick, his grip tight.

 

“You know that would be fucking hot though,” Connor said quickly, whisper quiet and shy in his ear. “You, coming on my face.” His dirty talk was so unexpected Dylan couldn’t hold back and he came, messy in Connor’s grip.

 

“You’re cute when you come,” Connor said, wiping his hand on Dylan’s boxers, which were hopeless. Dylan carefully slid out of them and tried to clean himself up as best he could.

 

“Oh, thank god,” Dylan said, rolling his eyes as he regained composure. He was pretty sure he had the dumbest come face known to man, but he wasn’t about to say that out loud. “You’re a secret little perv though, wasn’t expecting your dirty talk.”

 

“I wasn’t really either,” Connor said, his blush ever-present. “I guess...I’m kind of into it?”

 

“Well it’s fucking hot,” Dylan said, smiling at him as bright as he could manage. He kissed Connor on the corner of his mouth. “Maybe even hotter cause you’re a little shy about it.”

 

“I’m trying,” Connor said, a little defensively.

 

“I like it,” Dylan said.

 

Connor pulled him close, their bodies warm and bare. Dylan melted into Connor, who felt like he’d been a normal part of his bed for as long as he could remember. It was tender, intimate, as Connor tucked Dylan’s head against his neck, combed through the hair at the back of Dylan’s neck.

 

“You make me feel every single thing,” Connor whispered, his voice only audible because it was so dark out. Dylan could only think about how badly he wanted not one thing in his life to change.

 

\---

 

On Tuesday, Connor had a one hour window between his study group and his night class, and they had finagled a plan for Dylan to come have dinner with him on campus. Dylan had gotten off work, drained the cup of coffee he’d taken as he exited the shop for the day, and made some sandwiches for them to eat in the student union while playing footsie, or whatever you were allowed to do in public on a college campus.

 

When he got to the part of the student union he usually met Connor in, he could hear Connor’s voice around the corner, from where he was stationed with his cohort, studying for the test they had the next day. He stopped when he heard his name.

  
“Dylan’s bringing me dinner, actually,” Connor said, voice bright. He liked hearing the way Connor said his name when they weren’t together.

 

“You’re still dating him?” a girl asked, voice incredulous.

 

“He never stops talking about him, so yeah, I’d say they’re still together,” said a guy.

 

“Oh, I mean, that’s. That’s nice,” the girl said. Her tone clearly conveyed that she did not think it was nice. 

 

“Ang, shut it, we talked about this. Connor gets to make his own choices,” a second girl said.

 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Connor asked, sounding legitimately confused. Dylan could already feel what this conversation was going to be about. It was almost sweet that Connor had no idea.

 

The first girl spoke again. Angela. Dylan had met her at the movie party. He didn’t remember which one she was. “Just that, well. You know. You’re going to be a doctor and he’s going to be...a barista?”

 

“Is there something wrong with that?” Connor really didn’t seem to get it. Dylan could feel his heart sinking with every word. If it wasn’t this conversation that made Connor realize that Dylan wasn’t good enough for him, it would be the next one. Or the one after that. It was inevitable. An eventuality.

 

“He’s a college dropout dating a med student. Why do you think he’s doing that?”

 

“Because he likes me.”

 

“I’d make sure he has hearts in his eyes instead of dollar signs, that’s all,” Angela said again.  

 

“Fuck you, Ang,” Connor said. Dylan could hear Connor clatter up from the table, could hear his books slamming shut as he packed up. Dylan had to get out of there. He debated just dropping his sandwiches and running, but instead he turned down a hallway that he’d never been down before.

 

He took a moment, caught his breath.

 

Then he heard Connor’s voice down the hall. “Dyl?” Dylan instinctively turned toward his voice, confused at the upset look on Dylan’s face. “You didn’t…”

 

“Hear your friends? Yeah,” he admitted. Seeing Connor’s face, his hair long and in his eyes, backpack on his shoulders. He was so fucking handsome, which was so frustrating. Dylan knew what he needed to do. It would just be easier if he liked Connor a little less. Fuck, he liked Connor so much.

 

“They’re assholes. You know I don’t care that you’re not fucking pre-med. It would probably drive me crazy to date someone pre-med honestly.”

 

“But having a simple little barista boyfriend is easier,” Dylan said. It wasn’t a fair thing to say. He didn’t really think that - feel that. But he still couldn’t shake that feeling. That at some point, Connor would realize he wasn’t good enough. He didn’t want to wait for that to happen. It didn’t make any sense to wait.

 

“Dylan,” Connor said. “I’m not with you because it’s easy. I’m with you because I like you. I really, really like you.”

 

Connor took his hand, but Dylan pulled it back.

 

“They’re right, Con. It doesn’t make any sense. We don’t make any sense. You’ve always been out of my league. And this has been, fuck, it’s been really nice-”

 

“What the fuck,” Connor said, finally realizing what Dylan was doing. Breaking up with him.

 

“You need to focus on school. I get it. I need to focus on, I don’t know, getting my life together I guess. Moving on from coffee, or something.”

 

“Don’t do this,” Connor said. He was whispering, standing so close to Dylan that Dylan just wanted to grab him and pull him in, apologize for being an idiot, breathe in the scent of his skin. He took a step back.

 

“I don’t know what else to do. It’s going to happen sooner or later, you know it is.”

 

Connor didn’t have any words. Dylan could see him trying to think of something to say, and failing.

 

“You can have the sandwiches,” Dylan said, handing over the plastic grocery bag he packed for their dinner. “I promised you dinner.”

 

“Please eat with me, we can figure this out.”

 

“I’ll talk to you later, Con. Take care of yourself, okay?” he said, and turned to walk out of the student union, hands shaking. Connor called after him, but he didn’t chase. Dylan didn’t look back.

 

He was shaking when he got back to his car. He couldn’t believe what he’d just done. Fucked everything up. He beat his hands on the steering wheel. He didn’t know what to do. He called his best friend.

 

Mitch picked up on the first ring. “What up, Stromedaddy?” he answered. Mitch was his best friend because he said stupid shit like ‘Stromedaddy,’ which Dylan knew was objectively embarrassing.

 

“Connor and I broke up, I think,” he said, the words and what they meant feeling two or three layers away from him. It didn’t feel real.

 

“Shit,” Mitch said. “Fuck. Okay, come over.”

 

And Dylan did.

 

Mitch lived in a cute little house with a boyfriend who had started as a Tinder hookup, then a repeat hookup, then eventually his boyfriend, then his live-in boyfriend. Dylan liked Matt. Or, he liked that he treated Mitch so well. He’d never seen someone so head over heels for someone. Especially someone who was Mitch. Matt owned his own duct-cleaning business, and he and Mitch had a good life together. Dylan just wanted...that.

 

Of course, walking into relationship sunshine when you just broke your own damn heart was a raw deal. Mitch shooed Matt upstairs to his office when Dylan got there, and shuttled Dylan over to the couch, grabbing a package of Oreos on the way.

 

He pulled Dylan into a cuddle, and Dylan let him and finally cried a little. God, he was so fucking stupid.

 

“What happened, babe?” Mitch asked him. Mitch was the kind of friend who called you ‘babe.’ “Do I need to go beat him up?”

 

“No. Connor didn’t do anything wrong. I broke up with him.”

 

“Tell me I heard you incorrectly. Not even you are that stupid.”

 

“I...am that stupid.”

 

“The fuck is wrong with you? You two were disgusting about each other, and I should know.” He was absolutely referring to how disgusting he and Matt were about each other, which was...pretty disgusting.

 

“It was just eneviatable, you know?”

 

“I do not.”

 

“He’s out of my league. He’s always been out of my league. Prince Hottie is going to be a doctor. He hangs out with other future doctors. That’s a _type_ of person, you know? A future doctor. Future doctors don’t date losers with food service jobs.”

 

“Hey asshole, maybe let him make that choice then,” Mitch said. He had his hand on the back of Dylan’s head which was much more soft and gentle than Dylan deserved. Dylan was mad at himself about it. But he didn’t think he was wrong.

 

“Maybe it would be good for a few months. Good for a few years. But then what? He’s a doctor saving people’s lives and I’m what - his house husband?”

 

“Been trying to convince Matt I’d been a good house husband honestly. Don’t see the issue there.”

 

“You know what it is. No one will ever see me as anything other than a moocher.”

 

“Connor doesn’t think of you that way.”

 

“Connor’s friends think I’m stupid.”

 

“Connor’s friends are stupid.”

 

“I’m not going to change my mind.”

 

“Maybe you need to realize that sometimes, you’re allowed to have nice things. You can have happiness. You don’t have to push it away.”

 

Dylan was used to Mitch being mostly an idiot. But he did have some good advice sometimes. He didn’t know what to say back. Just let the silence hang in the air.

 

“You want me to shut up?”

 

“Yeah,” Dylan said, snuggling against Mitch’s chest. He felt so different than Connor did, but he tried not to think about that.

 

—-

 

The next day was Wednesday. It was a long fucking day. Dylan stayed in bed as much as he could, nursing his broken heart. He knew the black pit he felt in the center of his heart was his own fault, but it hurt nonetheless.

 

He had a string of texts on his phone from Connor that he didn’t think he could respond to. By noon, it had been almost three hours since he’d gotten a text from Connor. It pulled his heart in two directions. It hurt to see a new text come in, but hurt even worse when they didn’t. He knew he didn’t get to have it both ways.

 

He pulled his covers over his head, thought about the last time Connor had been in bed with him, how happy they’d both been. How good it had felt. It felt like it had been just yesterday. It felt like it had been years. Fuck, he just missed him.

 

Dylan knew he was being dramatic, but he didn’t care. He had a broken fucking heart. He was going to wallow.

 

—-

 

In the ten days since they’d broken up, Dylan had seen Connor zero times. The Daily Grind was no longer part of Connor’s morning routine. Dylan had been afraid he’d still come in for his incredibly boring not-so-hot latte, and was ready to bolt at any point. But he never came. By the next Monday, Dylan wasn’t even afraid. By the following Friday, he’d fallen into a new routine.

 

He went to work. He went home. He spent too much money ordering food because he couldn’t get it together to make it for himself. He showered when Mitch told him he needed to. He felt like a husk. Crouser just said he needed time to get over it. Jakob said he needed a rebound fuck.

 

Dylan knew the only thing that would fix his heart, and it was a science nerd with fluffy golden hair.

 

—-

 

Saturday morning, Dylan got a Facebook message. It was almost eleven and he was still in bed, but that was just what his life was. If he wasn’t working, he was in his bed. He didn’t want to see his roommates. He didn’t want to go outside. Anything he didn’t have in his room, he could live without. He’d never been more grateful for his ensuite bathroom in his life.

 

He opened the message, from Taylor Hall, his square block face impossible to mistake for anyone but Connor’s roommate.

 

_I don’t know what happened between you and Connor. But he’s fucking wrecked. He isn’t talking to his friends. He isn’t going to study group. He failed his first test of his life. I don’t know what to do. I can literally hear him crying on the porch right now._

 

Dylan just sat there and stared at it for a while. Connor got upset when he got a _low A_ on a test. Technically no different than a high A, but gutting to that nerd. Dylan felt a curl of warmth in his stomach thinking about how much Connor cared about his grades. Then he felt that warmth drop as he thought about how much failing a test would affect him.

 

When he’d broken up with Connor, he had assumed all of the pain would be his own. He hadn’t thought about how it would make Connor feel. He hadn’t thought that Connor would be affected enough to take a test.

 

He got another message.

 

_If this is something you can fix, please fix it._

 

He thought about it. About how painfully he wanted to hold Connor as he cried on the porch. About how he wanted Connor in his bed and in his life. He wanted to run his fingers through Connor’s hair. He just...he just wanted Connor more than he’d even wanted anything. Mitch’s advice rang in his mind. _He was allowed to have nice things._

 

He messaged Taylor back. _I think I have an idea, if you’ll help me._

 

Then he went to the grocery store.

 

—-

 

Dylan had never been more scared in his life. He thought back to how nervous he was when he asked Connor out initially. His fear was several orders of magnitude past that feeling.

 

He’d come up with a plan with Taylor. Taylor had taken Connor out to a movie. Dylan had no idea how he’d convinced him. But Taylor had left their door unlocked, and Dylan snuck in to get things ready.

 

By the time Taylor texted to let Dylan know they were close to home, Dylan was shaking out of his skin. He had already fucked up the best thing in his life. He was scared to push it into a place that was irreparable.

 

Dylan knew Connor would be coming alone. That Taylor would make an excuse about his car and stay downstairs, then go to the library for a while. He could feel his heart pounding in his throat as he heard footsteps come up the stairs, Connor’s key in the lock, the door creaking open on old hinges.

 

Connor stopped dead in his tracks. Dylan saw him take in the dining room. He’d lit candles (he’d had to _buy_ candles, but he figured it was worth it). He had roses on the table, because he thought that was the most appropriate flower, not that he knew anything about flowers.

 

Connor’s eyes were red from crying, hair greasy, posture a slump of exhaustion and disappointment. He was wearing _sweatpants_ , which Dylan had never seen him leave the house in. He wanted to touch him so bad.

 

“Dyl,” he said, confused and hurt.

 

“I get if you want to kick me out. I just. I fucked everything up. I miss you so much. I don’t deserve you. But I want you.”

 

Connor stood and listened to him, then closed the door behind him. “You made me dinner?” He asked, gesturing to the table.

 

“Yeah. Um, sloppy joes. Comfort food.” Dylan had thought about doing something fancy. He’d thought about ordering pizza. He’d thought about moving to the states in shame and never coming back. He hadn’t stopped shaking yet.

 

“Okay,” he said. He was being tentative. Feeling out the situation. He and Connor were such different people. If Connor had been the one who had broken Dylan’s heart, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to do anything but yell in a situation like this. Dylan knew Connor was better than him. This was just one of the thousand reasons.

 

Connor took the few steps to the table and sat down. Dylan sat across from him. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do. Connor picked up a sloppy joe and took a bite, so Dylan followed suit. They ate.

 

It was the most awkward dinner Dylan had ever had. But Connor stayed there. He ate the food Dylan made him. He didn’t kick Dylan out. He wasn’t sure things were going well, but they weren’t going bad.

 

When Connor finished eating, he took the last swig of his beer and stood up.

 

“Talk on the porch?” He asked, and didn’t even wait for Dylan to say yes before heading to the door in the corner.

 

It was the beginning of December, and it was fucking freezing. Connor sat in the recliner and pulled a few blankets over him. Dylan took a seat on the couch, not too far away from Connor, but not too close.

 

There was a pause. Then Connor took a breath. “You broke my heart.”

 

Dylan could feel the weight of Connor’s emotions in those words, true and strong, like he was making himself say them with gravity.

 

“I fucked up. I am so, so deeply insecure about what I’m doing with my life. I have this crushing feeling every single day that I’m doing the wrong thing. That everyone else has it figured out, and I’m just fucking up every day. And that insecurity just ate at me. Con, you’re fucking perfect. You are smart and kind and driven. You’re gorgeous and funny, and no one has ever made me as happy as you do. And I just couldn’t imagine a planet where I would ever be able to deserve you. And...so I blew it up, I guess. I made the worst decision of my life. And I get if you can’t forgive me. But I just. I needed to try. And I needed to say I’m sorry. Hurting you is the worst thing I’ve ever done.”

 

Connor looked at him. Bit his lip.

 

“I reamed out Angie and the rest of the guys. After what they said the night...the night you brought me dinner. I’m still mad at you. But what they said was shitty too, you know. I. Shit, Dyl. You hurt me. And I miss you so much. But I can’t just flip a switch and have everything be back to normal. I’m not saying no. I’m just saying. I need some time.”

 

And that was...probably the best Dylan could hope for.

 

“I can give you as much time as you need. All the time,” Dylan said. Connor’s nose was pink from the cold, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and another around his body. Dylan wanted so, so badly to hold him. But...time.

 

“Okay,” Connor said. “Thanks for dinner. And the apology.”

 

“Thank you for not kicking me out. And for listening.”

 

Connor stood up. “I need to go to bed,” he said. It was gentle, but Dylan was being kicked out.

 

“Yeah,” Dylan agreed. He stood up, left the blankets that were covering him in a pile on the couch. Connor followed him to the door. Leaving felt bad. But not awful. Connor was right. It would take time to put things back together. Connor was worth the time.

 

\---

 

Dylan was getting ready for bed three days later. He hadn’t heard from Connor since Saturday, but he wasn’t worried. Okay, he couldn’t think about anything else, but he’d convinced himself not to completely freak out yet. Or, Mitch had convinced him.

 

He may have Wednesdays off, but by the time the night started edging toward nine, he was just beat and he couldn’t pretend otherwise. He’d had a weird conversation with his manager earlier that day about wanting to make Dylan an assistant manager. He hadn’t even known that he’d wanted that, but now that it was on the table, he realized he did. He liked The Daily Grind. It made him happy and tired, and didn’t give him the crushing terror that being in school with no goal made him.

 

Maybe he’d take it.

 

He was thinking about coffee and Connor as he pulled his pajama pants on when his phone rang. The photo that popped up as it buzzed on his night stand was of a certain golden prince. Dylan’s heart lurched.

 

“Hey,” he answered as he climbed into his bed.

 

“Hey,” Connor said, voice quiet on the other end. “Um, I figured you would be going to bed soon. And I um. I just wanted to hear your voice.”

 

Dylan’s heart melted. There were so many things he wanted to say to Connor. It took a lot of restraint to keep it to what he actually said. “It’s nice to hear your voice. I’m glad you called.”

 

“I um. I should let you get to bed. But I’ll talk to you soon okay?”

 

He’d talk to Connor soon. That sounded so nice. “Yeah. I’d like that a lot.”

 

—

 

The 8:45-9am window at the coffee shop had kind of stopped meaning anything to Dylan. Really, it had come to mean that he tried desperately to distract himself with whatever tasks he could scrounge up to fill that time. On Friday morning, that meant inventory in the back room, making sure he knew how much milk they had to make an accurate order later in the day.

 

Mitch popped his head into the back room. “Not to alarm you, but I think you’re going to want to come make a not-so-hot vanilla latte.”

 

Dylan hadn’t let himself hope to see Connor any time soon. But he also couldn’t help it. He’d been pushing his hope down so far that having that hope come true made him freeze.

 

When he came out of the back room, Connor was standing there by the bar, a nice shirt on with that blue tie Dylan liked. Connor smiled at him, and fuck, Dylan was so, completely gone for this boy.

 

“You have a test today?” Dylan asked, tamping espresso into the portafiter and slotting it into the espresso machine to pull a couple shots.

 

“Um, no, actually. I have something more important, so I wanted to look nice.”

 

“What’s that?” Dylan asked, as he added a few pumps of vanilla to the bottom of a cup.

 

“I wanted to see if you wanted to get dinner with me tomorrow night,” he said, the words coming out rushed and nervous.

 

Dylan almost dropped the cup he was holding. “Really?” He asked. He couldn’t hold back the feeling of elation.

 

“Yeah. If you want. Maybe tacos?”

 

“Yes, please, tacos,” Dylan said.

 

“Okay,” Connor said, the brightest smile Dylan had seen on him in almost a month lighting his face up. He was so very Prince Hottie in that moment. Dylan steamed Connor’s milk while Connor caught him up a little bit on the test he’d failed (he had a re-take that he aced, because when you look like Connor McDavid, you get exceptions made for you) and when Dylan finally handed over Connor’s drink, he lingered for a moment.

 

“So I’ll see you tomorrow,” Connor said. They were maybe the most beautiful words that Dylan had ever heard.

 

—-

 

Epilogue: Christmas Eve at the Stromes

 

Dylan’s dad had been one hundred percent serious when he’d said that Christmas Eve was a required event. They’d gone over early in the day to help get everything set up, but mostly kept stealing breaks to makeout in private places.

 

They’d been back together for almost three weeks - the length of time they’d been apart - and Dylan was committed to making every single moment he was with Connor absolutely perfect.

 

They were assembling bacon and scallops for appetizers, unsupervised in the kitchen as Dylan’s parents were outside solving a decorations emergency, and Dylan was mostly just watching Connor’s precision as he wrapped a small strip of bacon around a scallop, like he wanted to get an A on this as well.

 

“I got you something for Christmas,” Dylan said, and Connor looked up at him, ready to roll his eyes. He knew him too well.

 

“If you say it’s your dick, I’m leaving.” They both knew it was an empty threat. Connor wasn’t going anywhere before he got to actually eat the bacon scallops he was making.

 

“It’s not,” Dylan said, wiping his fingers on a towel before pulling something out of his back pocket, a little envelope that was crushed a bit from sitting on it.

 

“I didn’t realize this was the perfect time to exchange gifts or else I would have brought mine. Oh, wait. I did. It’s my dick.”

 

Dylan laughed at him, so fucking blissfully happy at Connor’s teasing. The first week they’d been back together, everything had been so serious, so tenuous. He was glad for jokes. He was glad Connor was making jokes.

 

Connor took the crushed little envelope and opened it to reveal a laminated card, about the size of a credit card. It was clearly handmade, streaky from being printed off a color printer that needed a new ink cartridge, at least for the magenta.

 

“One free not-so-hot vanilla latte per day, (as long as I’m working),” Connor read. He smiled, then leaned over to kiss Dylan. Now that Dylan was an assistant manager, he had a little leeway, like giving his boyfriend free drinks. But Connor was always weird about it, not wanting Dylan to get in trouble.

 

“See? It’s official now, so you don’t have to worry about it.”

 

“It has Mitch’s signature on the back,” Connor said.

 

“For authenticity,” Dylan explained. Mitch was still in school and thus not a manager, but he was Connor’s favorite of Dylan’s coworkers. He figured that counted for something.

 

“I love it,” Connor said. Then he paused. “For Christmas, I’m giving you the gift of forgiving you for breaking up with me.”

 

Dylan paused for a moment. Since getting back together, there had been a film between them. Something thin that prevented them from fully connecting. It was the breakup, the distance it added between them. Connor was offering to dissolve that.

 

“For real?” Dylan asked. He’d asked for a million things for Christmas, but didn't realise until Connor said those words that this was the only thing he wanted.

 

“No, for fake,” he said. It felt like his only joke, Dylan had heard it so many times.

 

“I love you,” Dylan spit out, almost tripping over the words. He hadn’t planned on saying them at his kitchen table while assembling snacks, but there they were. He hadn't planned on Connor forgiving him at the kitchen table either.

 

Connor smiled, soft and warm at him. He scootched just a little closer to Dylan, and took his face in his two hands. He had amazing hands, they were just huge, and in the moments before Connor kissed him, he looked into his eyes. Connor’s friends could say whatever they wanted about Dylan. But the truth was that Connor saw him - saw who he was at his core.

 

He pressed his lips to Dylan’s, sweet and warm and home. “I love you, too,” he said right against Dylan’s lips. They stayed there, breathing each other’s breath for a long quiet, perfect moment until they heard the front door open, Dylan’s parents clattering back inside from fixing a string of lights on the roofline that had gone dead.

 

Connor dropped his hands from Dylan’s face, but stayed close as he finished up the scallops on his tray. They ditched the trays in the fridge and snuck up to Dylan’s room before they could acquire another task.

 

Dylan pushed Connor into his bed, straddled his hips and slid his hands up under Connor’s shirt. He had brought a literal change of clothes for the party that night so he wouldn’t get them dirty while helping with setup, and Dylan loved him so, so much.

 

“Thank you,” Dylan said, leaning down to kiss Connor.

 

“For what?” Connor asked, like he actually didn’t know.

 

“For being here and helping. For taking me back. For forgiving me. It means everything. You mean everything.”

 

“You're so sappy,” Connor said, grabbing Dylan by the hips and pulling him closer. “And I love you.”

 

And Dylan would never, never get tired of hearing that.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello I drank a not-so-hot vanilla latte while posting this because #theme Also, the stuff about Connor's heart is all made up, obviously. 
> 
> thewestishharpooners on tumblr if that's your thing.


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